


dance, dance, dance

by highboys (orphan_account)



Category: Kuroko no Basket
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Domestic, F/M, M/M, Sports Day, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 23:23:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/highboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courtship is sweeter when you do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dance, dance, dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [steamedmantou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/steamedmantou/gifts).
  * Inspired by [drabble dump 014](https://archiveofourown.org/works/535907) by [highboys (orphan_account)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/highboys). 



1.

 

 

In the middle of June, they stacked piles of worn wood and leftover banners in the center of the field; the bonfire, they would build after sports day came and went. In the meantime, with the sun half-concealed by the horizon and the students assembled round the grounds, Kuroko stayed in the third year classroom and watched the girls line up to dance with the boys, a flurry of white and movement across the soccer field.

Off to the side, Akashi stood conversing with the captain of the tennis club. Murasakibara, hulking and lax with partners, a contrast to Midorima's precise stiffness, his awkwardness, was easier to find, with his height and the wide berth the other students gave him. Momoi was only harder to search for, but barely. With her wrist caught and her feet guided with little ease by Aomine, she threw back her head; she might have been laughing, then.

"So this is where you've been," said Kise, from the entryway. He slid the door open until it disappeared into the slot completely. "I was wondering why Momoi made do with Aominecchi when she could find you."

"I was hiding," Kuroko confessed, without turning away from the window. Momoi swatted at Aomine and pushed him away; Akashi crossed the grounds and asked for her hand, then. "My ankle hurts from the bread-eating race."

"Oh," said Kise. He looked at Kuroko's rubber shoes, and came closer to inspect the bandages peeking out of his socked foot. "Did you get it checked out at the infirmary?"

"Yes," said Kuroko. He smiled, barely a stretch of his lips, and let Kise prop him on a desk. "Aomine came with me."

"Too bad he's never going to get the time of day from the new nurse," said Kise. He whistled, low and appreciative, even as he untied Kuroko's shoelaces and slowly removed his shoes. When he held Kuroko's ankle, he cradled it reverently, in his hands. He rubbed the sole with his thumb through the cloth, and Kuroko's toes curled, in surprise.

"He can dream," said Kuroko, cuffing Kise's shoulder lightly. "And at least I didn't have to find a convenient excuse to sit this part out."

Kise winced, and felt for the bandages. He tugged at them and they came loose, barely. He set to work. "What happened to all the hours everyone put into practicing with you?"

"Momoi-san was very understanding," said Kuroko, carefully.

"And very disappointed," said Kise. "Thanks for the bread, by the way. Even if Momoi hit me for it."

"I bought her a panacotta from the cafeteria as compensation," said Kuroko.

"Very mercenary," said Kise. "But, like this, you don't mind practicing with me before I join the fray, do you?"

Kuroko chuckled, at that. And then he stopped. Kise wrapped the bandages tightly, around Kuroko's feet, so intent that it almost ached. "You're serious."

"Of course I am," said Kise. "I have a reputation to uphold, you know, and everyone will be so shocked if I can't deliver."

The sun was barely out, by now. Through the window, Kise's shadow faltered; when he stood up, he scratched the back of his neck. His hair was a ring of auburn, where the light hit it. The hesitance, this was new. The invitation, the first of many.

Kuroko sighed. "I don't know the steps well," he warned.

Kise smiled at him, soft, and pleased. Like he'd been waiting for him to say yes. "That's okay," said Kise. "I'll teach you how."

 

 

2.

 

 

The first dance started and the guests in Kuroko's table rose to flock around the dance floor. Phones and cameras in hand, they cooed at the couple, the bride leading her groom into the steps. He held tightly at her hand and looked at her as if he could not understand the reality of it, as if she would vanish if his touch escaped hers, and she rewarded him with a small kiss to his chest, the only part of him she could reach without having to tiptoe even in her heels.

Kuroko had to smile, at the sight.

"Eugh," said Aomine, beside Kuroko. "Please stop me from gagging."

"Now, now," said Kuroko, lightly. "I thought you and Momoi-san talked about this."

"Whatever," said Aomine, continuing to scowl. "I'm going out for a sec. I need some air."

Kuroko nodded at him, and continued to watch the bride twirl, in time to the crescendo of the saxophone. He knew better than to follow Aomine, who dealt with his disquiet in his own time, at his own pace. At least here, Kuroko had liquor to accompany him, although Akashi had taken steps to dilute his wine with water, for fear that Kuroko would clock out before the best man could even give his speech. Kuroko sometimes disliked Akashi's powers of foresight.

"Well," said a new voice, loud even in the music. The stranger's lips brushed his ear, for a moment, and Kuroko flinched. He took the empty seat beside Kuroko, vacated by an irritated Aomine smoking outside. "You look cheerful."

"Please don't start," said Kuroko, crisply. He felt for his collar, the stiffness of it. "And it's nice to see you again, Kise-kun."

Kise bowed his head, in apology. "Haha," said Kise, "you're still honest to the core, aren't you?"

"And you're still impetuous, in many ways," said Kuroko. Kise raised his glass to him, and took a small sip.

The years did little to tame Kise's manners, his smoothness. Instead, he'd grown into himself, more assured, more at ease, and less prone to searching for the past as he once did. Kuroko envied him, for it. His small mercies. His disposition. And even in looks, Kise was still as handsome, if with a little more sharpness to his expression, a little more economy in his movements. Kuroko tilted his head, and looked at him with a little warmth.

"Oh," said Kise, catching his stare. "I missed that."

"What?" Kuroko asked.

"That," said Kise. He put his wine down, and waved at Kuroko's face with his palm. "When you looked at me like that."

"I look at everyone like this," said Kuroko.

"No," said Kise. His eyes lit up with some secret he couldn't repress, and Kuroko steeled himself. "You get this look in your eyes like you wanted to say something, and I always waited for you even when you didn't." He sighed, and leaned back into his seat, tipping it back. "Then again, you looked at Aominecchi and Kagamicchi like that, too."

Kuroko clenched his jaw, and gripped the flute of his wine glass. "Are you calling me a flirt?"

Kise exhaled. His mouth opened, mocking. "Now you're putting words into my mouth."

"I was kidding."

"No," said Kise, affably. "You really weren't."

On the dance floor, the groom dipped the bride low, until her veil touched the tiles. Her laughter was clear and breathless, and it rung in Kuroko's ears like a pleasant thrum. They looked happy, Kagami and Momoi. Very, very happy, and Kuroko's heart clenched, for them.

"You didn't look at her like that, though," Kise said, interrupting the brief silence. "I wonder."

"I think I loved her," said Kuroko, "once."

"But it wasn't like that, was it?" Kise said, absently, and Kuroko bent his head. "Your tie is crooked, by the way."

"Oh," said Kuroko. He stood to excuse himself, only Kise's fingers encircled his wrist. His eyes flashed, like he was expecting something.

"Let me," said Kise. Kise touched the knot of his tie, pressed when the morning began and now threatening to come loose from the number of times Kuroko had tugged at it in his discomfort. He rested his palm against Kuroko's collar. His throat. The swell of it.

Kuroko drew back, his mouth dry. His skin on fire. His legs suddenly weak. And Kise smiled again.

"Well," said Kise, like he was breathless. "That hasn't changed either, has it?"

"No," Kuroko confessed. He looked at Kise, at his aspect. The crumpled countenance. Suddenly, he remembered none of them were young anymore. And yet. And yet.

"Come on," said Kise, with a wink. "Let's steal the bride away from Kagamicchi."

And they did.

 

 

3.

 

 

"We are not playing this at our wedding," said Kuroko.

"We are," said Kise.

"First of all, it isn't even February," said Kuroko, spearing a belligerent asparagus with his fork. "And if you thought I'd kiss you after that song, then you thought wrong."

"What," said Kise. He fretted at the table napkin, and turned it over his lap, his long fingers fussing and coiling the cloth round and round. "Your mother seems to think it's a good idea."

"My mother thinks anything that comes from you is a good idea," Kuroko retorted. He waved over a passing waiter and asked for a fresh glass of water, and smiled in thanks. "Lucky for me, I exercise less partiality in my decisions."

"The song, though," Kise tried again.

Kuroko yanked the writing pad from Kise, and tore the offensive sheet and ripped it in half. "No."

"But this is a classic," said Kise, sulking. "It's a good song!"

Kise had no accounting for taste, Kuroko privately thought, and it was a shame that he had less self-respect than his looks afforded him. Kuroko covered Kise's mouth with his fingers, and Kise's tongue peeked out to mouth at them, propriety be damned. Kuroko shuddered, and withdrew.

"It's embarrassing," said Kuroko. He picked up his knife, and tackled his sirloin. "I, for one, would not like to give Aomine-kun more reasons to invest in a video camera for his personal enjoyment of my suffering."

"You make it sound as if dancing with me is a chore," said Kise, "but I remember when you were the one who couldn't dance and you kept tripping over my feet."

"I was injured," said Kuroko. "Oh. There's an idea."

" _No_ ," said Kise, horrified. A patron from the next table over turned to glance at them, and Kise sank into his seat.

Kuroko tapped the prongs of his fork to his lips, and the smile he gave Kise was deceptively gentle. "What if I accidentally sprained my foot from all the wiring?"

"Then I'll have to carry you around for the entire reception," said Kise, thoughtfully, "and then Aomine will take more pictures with his phone." Kuroko's smile vanished, and Kise tipped his head at him, victorious.

"Oh," said Kuroko, shaking his head. "How sly of you."

"Just one cheesy pop song for the reception," Kise haggled. He crossed his legs and folded his hands on the table, leaning forward with a dimpled grin. "And then we can go with whatever you like."

"I'll divorce you," Kuroko promised. He touched his ear, and wondered if he was flushed. If Kise could tell. He bit his lip.

"You won't," said Kise, and held out his hand.

 

 

4.

 

 

In February Tetsuya slept for longer hours. Whether out of the cold or from fatigue, a rush to the end of the school year and grades, he could not say why. Ryouta took to prowling around Tetsuya in the morning and taking over chores, pouring cereal in bowls to placate the kids or pacifying the puppy from Aomine with as much affection as he could afford. And even in the afternoon, Tetsuya would nap on every surface he spent longer than fifteen minutes on. On his side, with his feet propped up a pillow, he slept on the floor until the patter of feet and the clinking of toys woke him.

Sometimes he dozed on the porch, bundled in blankets and pillowed with books. When Ryouta found him the first few times, he'd worried; even with the snow thawing on the cedars, he fussed and he fretted.

"It's not that bad," said Tetsuya. "I can still feel my toes."

"You're supposed to be inside," said Ryouta. He passed a hand over Tetsuya's head and let his knuckles graze Tetsuya's cheek. Tetsuya's eyelids drooped, lower, and followed the action. He closed his eyes.

"I wanted some air," said Tetsuya.

"There's a window in our room," said Ryouta, dryly.

Tetsuya bent his head, to avoid Ryouta's fingers. He bit his lip, thoughtful. "It's not the same."

"Hmm," said Ryouta. He brushed back Tetsuya's hair. It barely tamed the errant strands, but Ryouta liked that part about him. He liked a lot of parts about him. "You always did like a good view."

Tetsuya nudged Ryouta's hip, with his cheek. His lashes fluttered open, and close. "Yes," said Tetsuya. "It's precisely why I married you."

Ryouta laughed. "What a smooth talker you turned out to be," he said, voice fond. Tetsuya's skin thrummed, when Ryouta's touch lingered. He left a trail of goose bumps in his wake, along Tetsuya's nape, the ridge of his spine. "I'll have to be careful of introducing you to people, or else you might sweep them off their feet."

"If I did it once, I can do it again," said Tetsuya, impish. He turned over to look at Ryouta, and his eyes crinkled with mirth.

Ryouta tucked his hand over Tetsuya's, and cradled it to his cheek. He kissed his fingers, one by one. "Now you're being cruel."

From the neighbor's, the radio station aired a low, somber tune. _If this isn't love, then why do I thrill_ , the singer crooned. Ryouta shut his eyes. He breathed in Tetsuya's closeness, his warmth.

"Oh," said Ryouta. He tapped Tetsuya's side, with his free hand. "I remember this song. How did it go again? Tata-tata-tata-tatum--"

Tetsuya rolled his eyes. "Please stop," said Tetsuya. "I don't think the neighbors heard you enough."

"So cruel," Ryouta sighed, a hand to Tetsuya's heart. "So unkind."

When Ryouta stood and offered his hand, Tetsuya rose to meet him. He tucked his head into Ryouta's shoulder, and hummed.

They swayed together, in place, like that, until the music ended. And even as the children and the puppy flanked them with muddy feet and stickier fingers, Ryouta caught Ryouji with an arm and rocked him to the tune of an imaginary beat, like he listened to something only he could hear in his mind.

And Tetsuya stayed with him.

 

 

5.

 

 

By the third disastrous result at an attempt at a pasa doble, Tetsuya found himself on the floor, nursing a growing ache on his ankle. He rubbed at his feet, searching for bruises. When he found none, Ryouta kept him there and wrapped a bandage round his foot.

"Well, this is familiar," said Ryouta, cheerfully. He pressed a kiss to the soft skin of Tetsuya's feet, the arch of bone and the corded muscle, like it would lessen the ache. It did not.

"Ow," Tetsuya intoned. He kicked at the air, restless and stubborn to the end. "I can still go on."

"Stay still for a sec," said Ryouta, exasperated. He pushed Tetsuya's leg back. "You'll need it, especially since our son is showing no signs of having any dancing abilities whatsoever."

"Hey," said Ryouji. He had to yell above the trill of the violin, the rapid _tan-ta-ta-tan_ in succession. "I said I was sorry, okay?"

With his hands fisted at his sides, Tetsuya felt sorry for Ryouji, only young and awkward and settling into his body with none of the ease afforded to Ryouta, or even to his older brother. Tetsuya knew what it was, that crippling insecurity, that inferiority, and he wanted him to meet it without fear.

"Poor Ri-chan," said Ryouma. "No wonder you didn't want to practice with her yet."

If only the rest of them did more wonders to Ryouji's confidence. Tetsuya could only hope for so much. And still, he could barely help joining in.

"Are you sure you don't want to stick to a waltz, Ryouji," said Tetsuya.

The music stuttered soon, to a stop, but Ryouma and Ryouichi's laughter echoed on. Ryouji flinched, and shuffled, tense, in his position. Tetsuya rubbed his toes, and let Ryouta help him up.

"Thank you," Tetsuya said, barely a wheeze. He pulled away, and pushed the coffee table to the side.

"Who the hell even signs up for a dance competition," said Ryouichi, through tears. Beside him, the dog's tail wagged, at his voice. "Oh my god, this is better than that time you signed up for ballet classes because _Hyuuga_ was in it."

"I hate you," said Ryouji, pitiful. "Stop judging me, okay, dad, he's making fun of me again!"

"Ryouji, you're fifteen," said Ryouta, "your brother will never stop making fun of you."

"Very helpful," said Tetsuya. "You're sleeping on the couch tonight, by the way."

"Buuurn," said Ryouma, sniggering into his bag of food. He reached for his phone, to text his errant godfather or domestic disturbances yet again. Tetsuya knew getting him a phone line was a bad idea in a series of bad ideas, but at least he had yet to suffer through Kagami's haranguing, not for this month. Perhaps the next.

"This is what you get for doing things for love." said Ryouta. "And for not thinking things through before you said yes."

"He gets that from you, by the way," said Tetsuya. Ryouta shrugged, and barely protested. He couldn't deny it at all.

"This isn't working," said Ryouji, hopeless. "She'll laugh at me and hate me forever."

"Hush," said Tetsuya. He pinched Ryouji's side. "No son of mine is a quitter. Now loosen up, before I jab your stomach."

"You won't," said Ryouji, skeptically, but he winced as Tetsuya waggled his fingers at him. Even at fifteen and towering over Tetsuya, he was still the same anxious child, ever frightened of infractions or the slightest hint of pain. Tetsuya wanted to soothe him with a hand to his nape, but he kept his hold on Ryouji's hand tight.

"He will," said Ryouta, not at all sympathetic. "And he'll step on your feet all the time if you make more mistakes, trust me."

"Daaaad," said Ryouji. "Aren't you satisfied with seeing me suffer?"

"I am," Ryouma and Ryouichi piped up, through mouthfuls of potato chips they stole from Ryouji's hoard.

"Boys, stop laughing at your brother and make yourselves more useful by turning on the music," said Tetsuya. "Now, would you like to do this the hard way, or the easy way, Ryouji?"

"The easy way," Ryouji muttered, his ears pink.

"Oh, you'll regret saying that," Ryouta promised.

"Shh, Ryouta," said Tetsuya. "One more time."

 

 

6.

 

 

When the bags were packed and the children finally absent from the house, Tetsuya's gaze often drifted to the empty rooms, the beds stripped of sheets and covered with plastic to keep the dust at bay for an indeterminable time.

He could not remember a time that the house had been this silent for so long. The hours stretched on without a fight breaking out in the hallway, or speakers blasting out the latest pop song even through the walls. There were no more phone calls missed because of irresponsibility or neglect, no more shoes strewn haphazardly along each step of the stairs. When he picked up clothes from the floor, it was only Ryouta's, never outgrowing his old habits, his ways.

Some mornings he woke at four to make breakfast for five, only to feed the leftover strips of bacon to the dog that licked the crumbs and oil at his fingers, when once he'd had to feed a belligerent Ryouji instead. When the afternoon came and went, he watched the front door, pensive. Like he'd expected something from it beyond Ryouta fumbling with his keys and calling out a greeting.

"Oh," said Ryouta, and Tetsuya wondered what he looked like, for Ryouta's smile to waver. If he looked as lonely as he felt. "Are you okay?"

"Not really," said Tetsuya, and Ryouta opened his arms to him. Tetsuya shook his head. "It's fine. I just need a drink."

"No alcohol," reminded Ryouta, steering him to the kitchen even as he stripped off his coat and toed off his shoes. "It's only Thursday."

"There's no beer in the fridge, remember?" Tetsuya said. "We don't have anyone to confiscate it from anymore."

"That's what you think," said Ryouta. "But just wait until the weekend, when the kids come home whining about their laundry and asking for money. Then you'll wish you got drunk earlier."

"I don't think so," said Tetsuya, dryly.

Ryouta sat him down a stool and pulled out the milk from the fridge. He let it heat in the microwave, and gave the mug to Tetsuya, who took it without a sound. Ryouta waited until Tetsuya found the words, until he was ready to talk. He'd wait even when Tetsuya had nothing to say, wrung out and unresponsive to the end. Patience he'd had more of in spades than Tetsuya himself.

"I thought it'd be easier with all of them out of our hair," said Tetsuya, after a fortifying sip. "It looks like I was wrong about that."

"You were wrong about a lot of things," said Ryouta, strangely playful even in Tetsuya's sobriety. He took a few steps forward, until he could hold him close. He kissed the top of Tetsuya's head, smoothing down the tangles of his hair, the spiky mess from sleep, uncombed. He would have to sit him down and brush the hair out of his eyes. Later. "Remember when you said we'd never play that song at our wedding? Didn't everyone love it?"

"I just wish you weren't so annoying about these things," said Tetsuya. "It's aggravating when you're right."

"I'm sorry," said Ryouta; he wasn't, at all. "I can't help it. I'm a very competitive person, you know."

Ryouta touched Tetsuya's jaw, knuckles grazing the soft skin below his ear. His ring shone, like a fire at Tetsuya's cheek. Tetsuya stilled, suddenly struck with longing. He bit his lip, and held on to Ryouta's hand. How many years they'd been this close, this near. How many times he'd wanted to hold him through some errant song in his ear.

"Would you like to dance with me," said Tetsuya, with a ghost of a smile.

"Sure," said Ryouta, through a returning grin, wider than Tetsuya's, and bright, brighter through his eyes, "but don't step on my feet."

 

 


End file.
